First Case
by editor frog
Summary: So what was Reid's first day of work like? Read on to find out...


**So a reader asked me to come up with a story about Reid's first day. Here's the result. Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine. Also: Spoilers for "Tabula Rasa."**

* * *

Reid took in a deep breath as he placed a hand on the gold handle of the two-inch thick glass-etched doors. _This is it,_ he thought as he carefully opened the door and made his way towards the landing at the back of the bullpen. The nerves racing up and down his spine were turning butterflies in his stomach.

_Okay, enough of that,_ the young agent chided himself. _You've worked hard for this. You belong here, just like the rest of these people do._

"Dr. Reid?" a voice called out from the row of offices on the landing. It was a voice that Reid knew well, having met the owner at a lecture in Las Vegas about a year ago.

Stepping into the carefully kept office, Reid looked down at the rows of photographs that adorned the top of a low bookshelf. The odd reference book lay pell-mell across taller shelves, and there were two stuffed leather chairs in front of a battered wooden desk. "Good morning," Reid said brightly, trying hard not to let his overwhelming enthusiasm show.

"Glad you're here," the man behind the desk said, a legendary agent named Jason Gideon. "Follow me." The two exited the office as a small group of agents tried hard not to notice the 'new guy' that was being settled in the bullpen.

"There's two desks open, take your pick," Gideon said, waving his hand at a pair of desks that were separated only by about a foot to space, creating a small walkway. Hesitantly, Reid chose the one in the corner. Corner desks were a sort of personal 'safe haven' for him—after years of being the easy target for the much older people he'd studied with, he'd come to realize that the corner desk offered some protection.

"I don't really think you'll need to worry _that _much, Reid," Gideon said, a small appraising twinkle in his eye. "Everyone here's earned their place. Why should you be any different?"

"Old habit, I suppose." A smile began to flash across the taller man's face.

"Hey, new guy," someone said, walking over. Instantly, Reid froze. He never knew what to say when it came to things like this. "What, he doesn't talk?' the man continued. "Some profiler, if he can't give the lecture…"

"Actually, profiles can be written," Reid pointed out. "Though a speaking element is required with all positions in law enforcement, the profile itself is little more than the study of human behavior and its effect on who we are or how a person handles himself…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," the man said, extending a hand. "Derek Morgan. Nice to meet you, kid."

"Doctor," Gideon corrected. "This is Dr. Spencer Reid. One of our tope recruits, holds Ph.D's in mathematics, engineering, and, of course, psychology. He'll fit in nicely."

"Little young, yeah?"

"Well, you're what, thirty?" Reid replied. "Which isn't to say you're not capable—your method of carrying yourself says you're pretty confident, somewhat outgoing, and not afraid to take charge. You wonder about me, because I look like some twelve-year old in the advanced class, but you yourself are extremely bright."

"Okay, kid," Morgan said, holding his hands up in surrender. "You win. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

"Want coffee?"

"Coffee?"

Gideon pointed towards the plain black coffeepot over at the sideboard. "Just remember to make another pot after you finish the last one," the older profiler said, smiling. "I've got a class. I think Hotch should be in right about…"

No sooner than the words had left Gideon's mouth than did a tall, stoic man appear through the doors, quickly walking in double-time towards an office on the landing. "Morning," he said hurriedly as he passed, not even taking the time to notice the group's presence.

Morgan looked at Gideon in surprise. "Long night?"

"He had that interview in Montana."

"Oh, right, right, right," Morgan recalled. "Yeah, I don't envy him at all."

Reid fell silent. He knew he'd have to catch up, and this wasn't the time to look like an idiot. "Um, about work…" he said quietly, hoping only Gideon could hear him.

"Ah, just run up to Hotch's office, he'll have something," Gideon said. "I'm really running late now…" He clapped Reid's shoulder and took off in the direction of the elevator.

Reid stood at the empty desk, looking up at the figure of the man who'd brushed past him. "Hotch?" he asked, looking questioningly at Morgan.

"Oh. Yeah. Here, I'll introduce you," Morgan said. "And kid?"

"Yes?" There was something about this man calling him 'kid' that, for the first time in Reid's life, didn't sound like a derogatory comment. Coming from Morgan, it was almost an endearment. He smiled a little, that shy smile he had when he was thrown in the midst of new people.

"Hotch might be a drill sergeant, but he's top-notch. And fair. Hell of a number-two guy."

"Noted."

The two agents climbed the stairs of the landing again, this time turning off into the first office instead of the second. "Hotch?" Morgan said, knocking on the door.

"What is it, Morgan?"

Reid cleared his throat, causing he man to look up from the file he was reading. "Ah, sir, my name is…"

"You're Dr. Spencer Reid," the man behind the desk said at once, stern but not without feeling. "Aaron Hotchner. You can call me Hotch. Gideon's told me a lot about you. It's good you're finally here—we've been short-staffed recently…"

"Thanks," Reid said, taking the proffered hand and shaking it. "I'd like to get started, if I could…"

"Well, you won't have to wait too long," Hotch replied. "Seems there's a need for us down in Roanoke…"

"What's in Roanoke?" Morgan inquired.

"Three young women, all strangled, all found in shallow graves in the woods. Roanoke police and the Parks Service have called about this, and it's just getting to us now…" Hotch shook his head. "I'm going to see about getting us a liaison…"

"Bout time," Morgan said. "Maybe then we wouldn't have to wade through the red tape ourselves…"

"Anyway, train's leaving in an hour, and we're on it. Reid, you have an overnight bag?"

"Yes, sir," the young agent said, remembering Gideon's advice to him the evening before. The older profiler had been thoughtful enough to call him personally and remind him of the need for such a bag, and there was, of course, his messenger bag if there was only a need for a single change of clothes…

"Then let's go."

As Reid followed the agents out the door, he stopped for the slightest of seconds at the glass doors. _Yep, _he thought to himself. _I've finally made it._ Then he took the current case file in his hands and began to read it.


End file.
